Empty Nest
by Swiss Army Knife
Summary: Hakoda realizes that he lost his children when they became heroes, and he lashes out at the wrong person. What follows is a stern warning.


Author's Note: This wasn't a planned piece. After watching the finale, I wrote the first sentence and the rest simply followed of its own accord. A part of me has always wondered what Hakoda and Piandao might say to one another if they interacted, and the following was the result of my musing. Spoilers for episode 3:4, and those past 3:10.

**Empty Nest**

by Swiss

* * *

The same instant that Hakoda realized how strong his children were was also the moment he realized he'd lost them. It came sometime between watching his son turn his back on his injured father to lead the invasion forces into battle and the second time Hakoda stood separate while his children leapt onto the back of the Avatar's bison – that day when the Western Air Temple had been destroyed. Yes, by that day he'd known for sure.

It had wrenched his heart at the same time that he'd swelled with pride. His children had discovered the Avatar, and had protected, guided, and strengthened him through a journey that had spanned the earth. They had reunited the North and South Water Tribes through her ability and his love, learned from the world's greatest masters, walked on enemy territory, and in the end had helped to facilitate the rebirth of the world as a place of peace. This they had both done before their sixteenth birthdays – with their gang, with each another, alone.

But not with him. Not with their father. Not anymore.

They didn't look to him anymore. For three years they had looked elsewhere, and this was his fault. His son was not looking at him now, either, though Hakoda was standing just by his side, behind the curtain separating them from the great hall where the Four Nations were celebrating the beginning of a new era.

Sokka did not turn until Hakoda placed a hand on his shoulder. Then the familiar blue eyes – eyes he remembered on the face of a child – turned to met his own. Sokka smiled. "Dad," he greeted. "What are you doing back here?"

"A good question," the man answered, warmed by the clear welcome in his son's voice. "I was looking for you. But what are _you _doing skulking back here? I know that you've set yourself up as Aang's guardian, but surely you can hold off peering around suspiciously for one night."

A self-depreciating chuckle. The boy had always been good-humored, and gentle teasing had no effect on him. Rubbing his neck, he said, "Ah, well. Actually I wasn't. Or else, I was only..._peering_ while I was waiting for Master Piandao."

Piandao. The man's name was a strike against Hakoda's heart. Piandao was the man who had served his son as a mentor in a time when, according to his sister, he'd been in great need of direction. At a time when Hakoda should have been there to validate his son – as a warrior, a man, and as a valuable human being – instead, there had been this Fire Nation sword master whom Sokka deeply respected and admired.

And '_master,'_ to Hakoda's ears, sounded far too close to '_father'_ when the word came out of his child's mouth.

Yet in spite of these conflicted feelings, Hakoda managed to keep his tone neutral when he asked, "You were waiting for him. Why?"

Sokka beamed. "He suggested that I return with him when he goes back to his home so I can complete my training. I know that everyone else has mastered their element," he said, eyes faltering for just a moment. "But I still have a lot to learn, and –"

Hakoda interrupted him, provoked by the quiver of shock that flowed through him. "You're considering not returning to the South Pole? Sokka," he said, deeply disappointed. "I don't understand. Finally, we have an opportunity to rebuild our _home_. How can I do it without you?"

Even as he spoke the words, the expression on his son's face chastised him. He had to bite down on the shame of exhorting his son by duty rather than by love.

Sokka stammered. "Dad." It seemed to take real effort for him to hold Hakoda's gaze, yet he managed to the face of his father squarely. "Dad, Aang may have saved the world from destruction, but the work isn't over. Restructuring a world of people accustomed only to war, rebuilding the Fire Nation's relationship with the other nations – even securing the support of the citizens of the Fire Nation itself... There's so much work to be done, and Aang can't do it alone. Zuko has also asked me to stay."

His father did not know how to respond. "You want to stay here, in the Fire Nation? You would restore it over your own home."

His son jerked as though struck. "No. That isn't it at all. I-I just want everything we worked for...it could still fall apart, and..."

"And they need you?" Hakoda's rare but fierce temper welled, churning waters that just covered the hurt which had been building in him for some time now. The water swirled up, a shield for his own feelings, and he struck out without thinking. "How arrogant of the little boy who was too preoccupied with his own jokes to walk in a straight line without tripping over a drift of snow!"

Incredibly, the clumsy, sensitive toddler that Hakoda had in his mind during that moment manifested in the young man he had become. It was in his eyes before they ducked to the ground, cheeks dark with shame.

"Sokka."

The voice that joined them out of the shadows belonged to a new person. The tall swordsman joined them with a subtle shift, as though he had always been there, and his presence broke through the sensation of a pulsing wound that had grown in the narrow hall.

Piandao stood with an easy, fluid grace that masked his age, but in this case not his ire. Hakoda saw it in the slight whitening of his knuckles. Gently, the man requested. "I know we planned to meet, Sokka, but I would like to speak privately with your father for a moment."

Sokka's gaze moved uncertainly between the two men, and even though it had been his own doing, Hakoda grieved to see his uncertainty. Then the swordsman laid a soothing hand on Sokka's shoulder, a silent comfort. The elder Water tribesman glared at the point of contact.

Once Sokka had obeyed, the two men were left facing one another. At first no sound passed between them except the rustling of Piandao's hands over his sleeves. Closing his eyes, the old master broke the pause. "That was wholly unfair to him."

That Hakoda agreed had nothing to do with his response. "He is _my_ son, however you may chose to act as though he were yours."

A slight widening of the nostrils was the only indication that Piandao was angered. Quietly, he suggested. "Sadly, that incredible young man you have just derided like an infant is not my son. However, if he _were,_ then I would feel embarrassed and ashamed that I could be so selfish that I would strip away his growth and accomplishment to avoid facing the pain of losing him."

It was so apt an interpretation of his actions that Hakoda felt as though he were in a rigor, unable to move or respond.

Piandao continued, "It is hard to let go of our children or to accept that other people have entered their lives – that they could have their _own_ lives. But Sokka deserves better than your show of fear. It is a new day – for all of us, as well as the world. You cannot return home to the same place you left, Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe, and your children will not be waiting for you there."

It should have made him angry, but instead Hakoda could only stand, hands slack at his sides, wishing that his eyes wouldn't sting as they did. He bit his lip.

Piandao sighed. In a way, they were so incredibly different from one another, but like many gathered in the hall, they were connected by very special young people. "Sokka is a good boy – one of the brightest pupils that I have ever taught, and certainly the most deeply feeling. His potential is virtually limitless." He shook his head sadly. "But even since the beginning, he has been struggling against a rooted sense of doubt. Part of this seems to come from the fact that he travels as a companion to those who have tremendous gifts and destinies. But perhaps also because the approval he most desired was absent. If you love him –"

"I love him," Hakoda snapped. "I love them! They _know_ that."

"I believe this," Piandao agreed, just as sharply. "Just as they know why you left. The absence was not lack of love, just a lack of physical presence. Your relationship with your son and daughter was stretched by distance, but anyone can see it is a tightly woven bond. Now you have the opportunity to draw in that bond and fill the divide."

He did not say that Hakoda should be thankful that his children had survived to allow for this opportunity. He did not have to.

Flinty eyed, Piandao glared. "So quit being such a fool."

The pain that Hokoda felt knowing that his children had been transformed in the time he was away from them – that they were heroes and adults, earth-movers, world-changers, caregivers, lovers, leaders – that pain did not lessen. But this man before him that he would liked to have resented was right. Hakoda's role in the lives of Sokka and Katara was different now, but it didn't have to be gone.

Just as he was leaving to find his son, Hakoda paused and turned his head so that he could meet Piandao's eyes over his shoulder. "He was always special," he shared. "In his own way and his own time."

Piandao actually smiled, amused and fond. "How very like Sokka."

* * *

For the second time in a single night, Hakoda walked up behind his son and surprised him with a hand on his shoulder. This time, however, his reception did less to press warmth into his stomach than before – instead it was more like a splash of seawater, bitter and cold. He despised himself for the waiting, worried uncertainty that met him in the blue eyes of his boy.

"Sokka," he began uncertainly, drawing him slightly away from the company of others. "I owe you an apology."

"No, you were right, Dad." Sokka wasn't looking at him, but his father could hear his conviction. He meant what he said. "Aang and Zuko can get along without me. My place is with you and the tribe."

Such faithfulness. It was one of his more beautiful traits, and Hakoda wished badly that he could wrap his arms around Sokka and tell him so, stroking back his hair as he had once done to drive all ills away. But that desire was what this was about. This boy – this tall, able, brilliant young man – was not his little one any longer.

Hakoda gathered his resources. "Son," he began. "Whether you stay or go must be your decision. It was wrong for me to try to force you. So soon after we've come together, it hurt to think of us being separated. I was reacting emotionally."

Being clear about this was so important.

"I lashed out at you with my temper," he explained. "I should never have implied that you weren't need here. I firmly believe that you're needed in more places than you could ever be. Your strong mind," he touched his son's forehead gently, "And you compassionate heart. You're wiser than your old man, that is for certain."

Sokka tried to interject, but his father shook his head.

"No, whatever you decide, you will have my support. And always, always, you and your sister will have my pride...and my love."

He had not often seen his cynical, pragmatic son so close to crying. Fighting a congested indrawn breath, Sokka whispered. "I love you, too, Dad."

Even in spite of his resolve to treat Sokka like the man he was, the father in Hakoda could not help but reach out. He knew it was the right thing to do when the young man stepped willingly into his arms, squeezing him tight. Pressing his chin against the top of his head, Hakoda could only think fiercely: _mine._ All grown up, but always his son. He could handle that.

"The world is different now," he said, drawing Sokka closer. And that was alright.

* * *

Author's Note: This story is probably unfair to Hakoda, a character that I hold in high esteem, but how hard it must be to leave your little ones and to come back to find them heroes!


End file.
